


A Thousand First Kisses

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Female Sam Winchester, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Dean Winchester, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oh, Dean knows how messed up it is, kissing his baby sister whenever he was afraid she was leaving. But hey, if she was leaving, then he wouldn't get another chance. And Sam never stops him, so obviously that means she doesn't plan on coming back. Right?ORFive times Dean kissed Sam, five times he didn't, and one time Sam kissed Dean.
Relationships: Amelia Richardson/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

Sweet 16:

"You know," Dean started, looking up from the hood. "You could always offer to help out."

Sam frowned from where she was stretched out on the ground, back against the wall of Bobby's garage. "I'll let you teach me when you start letting me drive."

He scoffed. "Whatcha reading?"

She showed him the cover. "_Dreaming Of You_, by Lisa Kleypas."

"That trashy romance stuff again?" Dean laughed. 

Sam rolled her eyes, coming to stand by him. "Well, it's not like I have any real life romance to speak of, what with you and dad dragging me all over the country."

Dean took a deep breath, straightening. "Sam, please," he started. 

"No, Dean, seriously," she snapped. "It's my _birthday_. He couldn't stick around for one goddamned day?"

"You know he would have if he could."

"Yeah, because a dead-end lead two states over is so much more important," she said, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

He raised an eye brow. "Dead end?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "I looked it over, everything Pastor Jim sent. I told him. But he insisted on checking it over anyway."

Dean silently cursed their father. No wonder Sam was so sullen and bitchy. 

"Hey." He bumped her shoulder. "Come on. We'll head out tonight, have fun."

"What, hustling at a bar?"

"Why the skepticism, Sammy?" He teased. "No, tell you what- there's a nice diner in the city, they have music and dancing and stuff. That's where we'll go."

Sam blinked. "Seriously?" She asked, a smile flitting at the edges of her lips. "Dad wouldn't be mad? About the money?"

He winked, conspiratorial. "Who's gonna tell him?"

She laughed, bright and happy. Even better, the smile actually stayed for the whole evening, even as they settled in at their table that night, in the best clothes they had; Dean in a button-up and the cleanest jeans he had, Sam in her favorite blue blouse and the one casual skirt she owned.

So when Sam turned to him with sparkling eyes, begging to dance, of course, Dean couldn't say _'no'. _

"Hey, Dean," she began softly, after catching her breath from spinning around so often. "Thank you."

Dean grinned down at her. "Don't go all chick-flick on me now, Sam."

She rolled her eyes, a standard response to his crap, but she had an unmistakably fond look in her eyes as they swayed together, and his breath caught in his throat. 

_No, no, no, no_, he chanted to himself. This was Sam's night. He was not gonna ruin his own good mood by thinking stuff like that. Stuff like how beautiful she looked at just sixteen, how he wanted to claim her lips right here in the diner, how he couldn't do that because she was his little sister and it was his job to protect her, not become a monster who would hurt her. 

"Dean?" She looked concerned now. The little brat always could pick up on his slightest mood swings. 

"Let's eat," he announced, deliberately loud and flippant. "I want to sample the pie." He told himself that wasn't disappointment that flickered in her gaze. 

Later, as he teasingly smeared crumbs over her face, if his fingers lingered a second too long over her lower lip... Well, she didn't notice. 

* * *

Stanford:

"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" The words filled the room, even as John stormed out, slamming the door of the motel room behind him. 

Dean stood frozen, as Sam let out a derisive laugh, though it sounded choked. "When he comes back," she said. "Let him know that I won't."

It was those last words that propelled Dean into action. He reached out, grabbing Sam's wrist, blocking her way to the door. 

"Don't," he said, in a low voice, moving his hands to grip her shoulders. "Sam, don't do this. Stay."

She just shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes. "For once, Dean, let me do what I want. I can't live like this, please."

"Sammy..." He didn't even know what to say. What would make her understand? 

Sam sighed, closing the distance between them to rest her forehead against his. "It doesn't have to be goodbye forever," she whispered. "We'll stay in touch, call, message, whatever."

He kissed her on impulse, the warmth of her breath on his lips making it hard to think, hard to focus on her words, hard to remember exactly why he was making a big mistake. 

"Please, don't do this, please, Sam," he spoke the words into her mouth, unsure if he even heard heard her. So, he kissed her, needy and desperate, a soundless litany of "_Please_" and "_Don't go_" and "_Don't leave me._"

He wasn't sure if she kissed back, wasn't sure if he wanted her to or not, if she gripped the front of his jacket to push him away or pull him closer. 

But he broke away before she could do either. And for a second, he thought he saw something like hope in her eyes. 

"Come with me, Dean," she pleaded. 

And he wanted to say '_yes_', but all Dean could ever do was hunt, and if he left with her, she'd resent him for what he represented. So he let her go, ignoring the sting of tears in his own eyes, and stepped back. 

Sam's eyes darkened again and with a curt nod, she walked out the door, leaving Dean to ponder if she'd let him kiss her to say '_goodbye_'. 

* * *

Pilot:

"Dean, I have to go back, man." Sam's voice was soft and gentle, like her words weren't twisting Dean's heart into painful knots. 

"Yeah, I'll take you back," he replied, mustering all his self-control to stay stoic. 

The drive was silent. Dean hated that there was no awkwardness, no discomfort, because it was just another example of how perfectly he and Sam still fit together, even after four years apart and two years with no contact. 

He could feel Sam's eyes on him in the reflection of her window. It didn't matter; he kept sneaking glances at her too, not knowing when he'd ever see her again. So he drank in the sight of her muscular legs crossed neatly at the ankles, the long thin fingers drumming against her thin wrist, the angle of her strong jaw, the curve of her lashes. And as he did so, he reminded himself that she had a life of her own now. That even if his want for her wasn't all sorts of messed up, he still couldn't have her, because she wanted nothing to do with his life. 

When they stopped in front of her building, Sam stayed in the car for a couple moments, looking at him. "Maybe we can meet up later," she mumbled, like she already knew it wasn't going to happen. 

He nodded anyway, holding her gaze and smiling softly. Behind her head, he could see the window of her apartment, dark and unlit. Jessica had probably fallen asleep while waiting for her. 

Would Sam be thinking of her, if Dean were to kiss her now? Would she let him, like she had before leaving? Would she kiss back, knowing that her girlfriend was just two stories up, or would she push him away? He could picture both cases; her hand curving over his cheeks while he tasted the beer they'd shared on her tongue, as well as the apologetic lilt to her words as she reminded him that it was wrong and she would never want him that way. 

The risk was too great. "Maybe, yeah," was all he said. 

Sam nodded, turning away and getting out. 

Twenty minutes later, as she closed the trunk of the Impala with a grim look on her face, Dean was glad he hadn't made a move, because Sam would have only hated herself. 

* * *

Christmas:

When Dean had opened the door to their motel, it was like stepping into his childhood. The crappy Christmas tree, the cheap decorations, the low music playing- all the same as the Christmas Days he remembered from before. The only thing different had been Sam, standing in the middle of the room, no longer a little kid, but a grown woman who'd put this together for him in an hour, and currently watching him with a strained smile and tear-shiny eyes. 

He ended up watching her more than the game. But it was okay, because Sam watched him too, sad and a little lost. 

When it was over, he asked her again. "What changed your mind?" 

She didn't deflect this time. Her gaze dropped down, then back up, too fast for him to understand what she'd looked at. "It's your last year," she said quietly, echoing their conversation from the previous night. "I think the least I can do is give you some good memories." She didn't really stick around to watch his reaction, just got to her feet, ready to turn in. 

"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, not really thinking it through. She stopped, looking down at him quizzically. "If I ask you for one more thing," he spoke slowly, unsure. "Would I get it?"

"Anything," she promised, which had him shaking his head immediately. 

"No, on second thought, don't promise it," he decided. When she looked confused, he patted the space next to him. Sam obliged, sitting next to him. 

She blinked owlishly at him when he took a deep breath to brace himself. Then, moving cautiously, giving her time to stop him, he leaned close to her, until the tips of their lips were brushing each other. 

Sam let out a shaky breath. Dean could feel her trembling and he wished he knew if that was good or bad for him, if he should push his luck or not. 

But this- this was enough. The feel of their breaths mingling, the right yet so wrong feel of having her this close, the knowledge that she was letting him be this close, even if it was out of a twisted need to keep him happy for the remainder of his life... It was all enough. Dean was going to hell, but he'd go satisfied. 

So he pulled away and smiled sadly, ignoring the pained look on Sam's face. "I know it's wrong," he whispered. It was the closest thing to an apology he could manage without voicing everything he felt for her. 

Sam didn't answer. Her face just shuttered close, unreadable. "Merry Christmas, Dean," she muttered, before getting up again to go to bed. 

Dean sat there for a few long seconds. Then, he followed her example and settled into his own scratchy mattress. 

* * *

Amulet:

Bobby stood, looking between them. "Well, I'll go get my car out. You kids follow fast." His gruff tone belied his fondness and Dean shared a conspiratorial grin with Sam as he left the room. 

"So, uh..." Dean cleared his throat, aware of Sam's inquisitive gaze on him. "We should probably go after him."

"Yeah." She chuckled weakly and got to her feet. "And, uh, here."

Dean felt his heart leap into his throat when she fished his amulet out from under her shirt. 

"I kept it safe. Figured you'd want it back."

"Thank you," he managed to choke out, grasping it, letting the sharp edges dig into his palm. He slipped it around his neck and the familiar weight of it against his chest was like the reattachment of a limb that had been missing since he woke in his coffin. 

Sam was staring at it too, then at him, and even her gaze felt like a tangible touch. 

"Thank you," he said again. 

She nodded, smiling, a little incredulous, like she couldn't quite believe he was there. But she tore her eyes away and followed Bobby out, before he could decide what to say... Or do. 

Dean hung back for a few seconds. He fingered the amulet, pressed it against his lips. It was warm, from Sam's skin. 

It felt like a kiss. 

* * *

The End:

Dean had thought he was ready. He'd thought he could look past the familiar face of his little sister, the one he loved more than anything else. 

But when they came face to face, all Dean could see was Sam's wide innocent eyes, her lips, painted cherry red, trembling as she looked at him. 

"Sam?" He asked, even as he cursed his weakness. "You still there in that thick melon of yours?"

Something flickered over her features. "Dean?" She whispered, voice full of horror. 

Instinctively, Dean gripped her bare shoulders, steadying her as she wavered. 

"Dean,“ she choked. " Lucifer, he, he's making me- _make him stop_!"

He used one hand to draw the Colt, but his hand was shaking. The utter terror on Sam's face didn't help matters. 

"Dean," she sobbed. 

He didn't even think about it, just pulled her to his chest, tucking her face into his neck. 

"Make it stop," she begged. 

Dean pulled away just an inch, just to see her face. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. 

She nodded and Dean, wondering what else he had to lose, kissed her hard. She seemed surprised, unsure. Dean didn't let himself linger. He released her slowly and, heart hammering away, eyes locked on Sam's tears, he pulled the trigger. 

Blood bloomed over her chest, slow and flower-like, almost beautiful against the stark white of her gown. 

Then she chuckled, soft and sweet and nothing like Sam and Dean felt his heart plummet. 

"Fascinating," she murmured. "You really are pathetically weak for your baby sister, aren't you?"

Dean felt sick. "Lucifer," he growled. 

She- _he_\- smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid so. Sam is much too weak to fight me anymore, although, if it's any consolation, she stayed very strong for a very long time."

Dean didn't want to hear anything else. Refusing to think further, or wonder why the Colt hadn't worked, he punched the Devil wearing Sam's face. 

Or he would have, except Sam's hand waved at him nonchalantly and he ended up kneeling on the ground, fighting his own muscles, and losing. 

The Devil crouched next to him, stroking his face almost lovingly. "She's watching, you know," the familiar voice told him. "And she doesn't even care. I could torture you for an eternity and she wouldn't care. Not after you left her to fend for herself in a world of hunters who wanted her dead. Is it really surprising she gave herself up to me?"

Dean tried to glare, but the tears stinging his eyes probably ruined the effect. 

Lucifer leaned even closer. "She hates you, Dean," he whispered. "Once upon a time, she would have wanted to kiss you back, blood relations be damned. Now, even just looking at you, she feels nothing but revulsion."

"Sammy," Dean breathed out, even though there was no point. He didn't know if Lucifer was lying, but if he wasn't, Dean had no trouble accepting it. It was nothing less than what he deserved. 

Sam's strong hand landed on his chest, pushing him down into the ground, gentle and careful, before standing. Dean just stared at the hem of her dress, swinging in the stormy breeze. 

"I was going to spare you, you know," Lucifer said, casual as you please. "But, Sam wants to see you die. So... I'm afraid it's good night for you."

Dean wished he could find it in himself to care. But he was just too tired. Sam's heeled foot came down on his throat, pressing sharply. 

The last thing he saw before everything went black was his own face, five years too young, staring at him in horror and regret. Yes, Dean thought, his past self had understood the true mistake that had set them on this path. 

Then his vision blacked out. 

* * *

Soulless:

Dean was _not_ ready for the sight of Sam pinning some hippie guy to her bed, when he opened the door to their motel room. 

Sam's groan of frustration would have been comical, if she hadn't been already getting to her feet. "Sorry, buddy. Duty calls."

The stranger looked disappointed, but he was staring at Sam with a dreamy look, as he quickly pulled his T-shirt on. "No problem, agent. Maybe a rain check."

"Probably not," Sam replied callously, closing the door on the guy's kicked-puppy expression. 

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked exasperatedly, pointedly ignoring the fact that she wasn't wearing her shirt, just jeans and her bra. 

She gave him bitch-face no. 36: _You're not being fair, Dean. _

"You do not hook up with people on the job," Dean continued, sitting on the edge of his own bed. 

Sam rolled her eyes. "No, apparently, only you do."

"Exactly." He nodded. "That's _my_ job."

"But I was done with the research," she insisted. "If I'm done with all my work, _like a good little girl_," she added sarcastically. "Then don't I deserve a little fun time?"

Dean shook his head, too stubborn to give in. In the back of his mind, he kept thinking about the look on that guy's face as he'd stared at Sam. It wasn't the first time Dean had come across that expression recently. Apparently, while Sam was charmingly irresistible under normal circumstances, Not-Sam seemed to inspire the kind of _go-crazy-for-one-night, no-holds-barred_ lust that Dean prided himself on. 

He focused on Sam again. She was staring at him, something calculating in her eyes. 

"You know," she started, walking slowly towards him. "It's really not fair that I did all that hard work on the research and you didn't even let me enjoy my reward. If you ask me, that kind of makes it your responsibility to make it up to me."

Dean tensed, eyeing the soulless shell of his sister in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

Quick as a flash, she was straddling him. Dean gripped her hips on reflex and sucked in a sharp breath as strong thighs circled him. 

"I mean," Sam crooned in his ear. "I want sex. And you don't want any random guy touching me."

Her lips were way too close for comfort to his ear, but damn if Dean didn't shiver as her breath raised the hairs on his skin. 

"And admit it," she continued, laughing softly into his ear. "You want this. You always have. God knows why I didn't see it before when I had my soul."

"Sam." Dean tried to sound stern, but his hands were ghosting over the scars on the bare skin of her back, feeling the muscles jump under his touch. "We... I can't... Sam, please!"

"Please what?" 

Dean almost jumped out of his skin, when her teeth grazed his skin, nibbling at his jaw. He hated himself for groaning when her tongue flicked out at the side of his neck. 

"I can't do this to you," he tried to explain. "I can't... You're my..."

"Your sister?" She cut in, coyly. "But I'm _not_, remember? You said it yourself."

She pushed him back onto the mattress, pinning him much the same way she'd pinned the guy from before. 

Dean struggled to catch his breath, as she teasingly unbuttoned his shirt, placing wet kisses down his neck and chest and goddammit, when and how and why was Sam so good at unravelling him within seconds? 

"Following your own logic," she went on- _how was she even talking? Dean could barely think in full sentences_. "I'm technically just a stranger who happens to have the same name and face as the woman you've been dreaming about since God knows when."

Sam's voice was low and hypnotic, seduction at its best. On some level, her words made sense too; this _wasn't_ his sister. It wasn't _his_ Sam. Just some weak imitation of her. 

But when her hands wandered down to his jeans, something snapped. 

In a second, Dean had flipped them, pressing her down with her wrists trapped in between their chests. 

"What's wrong?" She was looking up at him with her head tilted and for a brief moment, the genuine confusion in her eyes was so _Sam-like_, that he almost changed his mind. 

"You're not her," he said quietly. 

Her eyebrow quirked up in judgement. "Yes. That is the point."

Dean shook his head. "You're not her," he repeated, unwilling to say more than that, and rolled off her, laying on his back. 

Sam shifted to her side, propping her head up on her palm. "I'm not her," she echoed. "Meaning... I'm not the one you want? Right?" 

He nodded. 

Sam sighed. "Alright. I don't get it, but real-me probably would. " She nodded, thoughtful. "Okay. You need rest. You haven't been sleeping well. I can't have you hunting on less sleep."

He bit his lip, eyeing her. 

She returned the stare warily. "Now what?"

"It's hard to sleep when someone else in the room is awake," he replied grudgingly. 

Sam rolled her eyes. "This is crazy," she mumbled. Laying on her back again, she folded her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. 

Dean stared at the side of her face in confusion. 

"Uh, Sam?" He tried. "What are you doing? You don't sleep."

"No, but I can meditate," she replied calmly. "Just focus on my breathing. It should help."

Dean didn't think it would, but he closed his own eyes, listening to the steady inhale-exhale. 

He was asleep in a few minutes. 

* * *

Hallucinations:

"Sammy!" 

Yelling her name worked. Sam's entire upper body jerked back, like she'd been shot. She looked up at him with wild eyes. 

"Dean?" Her voice was suspicious, shaky. 

He approached her slowly, holding his hands up to keep her placated. She watched him like a skittish animal, waiting for a blow. 

"Sam, you gotta fight," he said sternly, keeping the huskiness of tears out of his voice. 

She almost laughed, the paleness of her skin and the white hospital clothes only pronouncing how much weight she'd lost as well as the deep dark bruising shadows beneath her eyes. "I don't see the point."

"Come on, don't talk like that," he snapped. He knelt near the bed, in front of her, and took her hand in his. The wound was pretty much healed, but there was always gonna be a scar, because of how many times Sam had dug her nail in it. "You gotta hold on, Sam. You gotta... You just _gotta_."

She opened her mouth to answer, but then her gaze slid to the wall behind him. Dean felt his heart sink, when she flinched, tears pooling in her hazel eyes. 

"Shut up," she growled. 

"Sam?"

She went on like she hasn't heard him. "Stay back. I swear to God, stay back or I will end you."

"Sam," Dean pleaded. "Sam, he's not real, look at me..."

A cry of rage escaped her and suddenly, Sam was shoving him out of the way, leaping to her feet and lunging forward. Dean was on his feet in a flash, arms locking around her waist to hold her back. 

"Sammy! Sam, stop, he's not there! It's not real, Sammy, look at me!"

She continued to struggle. "Stop it!" She gasped. "Stop it! Not him! Not his face! Stop!"

Dean did the only thing he could think of. He spun her around to face him and pressed his mouth to hers. He couldn't risk letting go of her hands, so he bit her bottom lip, just hard enough to draw blood. 

Her startled gasp was swallowed by the rough mockery of a kiss and she stopped struggling, though the tension never left her body. 

Dean released her slowly, only to see confusion and surprise coloring her face. She wasn't looking at him; rather, she was inspecting his chest. Dean was tempted to make a joke about checking him out, but he could see the fear on her face and he wondered what kind of wound she'd hallucinated on him. A bullet to the heart? A knife through the ribs? 

"I'm sorry, Dean," she finally whispered, sounding completely defeated in a way he'd never heard her be before. 

Dean shook his head, refusing to hear her words. "I'm gonna get you better," he vowed. "Just sit tight, Sammy. I'm gonna get you better."

But as he left the room, he felt dread that he wouldn't be able to find help in time. 

* * *

Separation:

"Look, whatever you decide, you decide," Dean spoke slowly, firmly, never mind that it was breaking his heart to say it. "Both feet in, or both feet out. Because staying in the middle is what gets you dead."

Sam nodded, tightly. She had that far away look in her eyes and Dean knew she was thinking about Amelia. 

He tried to tell himself that it'd be better for her to just leave. Have a normal life, get married, have a dog and maybe kids. But he didn't want her to go. 

"I'm gonna go take a walk," she said softly. 

He grabbed her arm as she passed him by. "Are you gonna come back?" He asked, letting her see, for once, just how scared he was of being left alone. 

Sam looked back, just as sad and lost. "I don't know," she admitted. 

Dean sighed. "Can I... Just in case...?" 

When she didn't seem to understand, Dean bent slightly to kiss her for what he was sure would be the last time ever. 

But she stopped him, a hand on his chest, applying just enough pressure to let him know she was serious. 

"Don't," she warned, her voice low and rough. "Just... Don't."

The rejection, the first one from Sam, hurt like a knife to the heart. Dean didn't even have to release her arm; she twisted free, slamming the door of the cabin as she walked out. 

Hours later, as he lounged on the sofa, she walked in. There was no greeting, no acknowledgement of her return. She simply sat next to him, handed him a beer and sat back. 

"You came back," Dean said dumbly. 

Sam looked at him over her bottle. "Don't kiss me like that again," she muttered. "Please."

And again, it hurt. But at least she was there, she was present, they were together. That was enough. Dean would be selfish to want more. 

* * *

Drunk:

He looked up in surprise when the door to their motel room burst open and two women stumbled in, supporting each other. 

"Deeeeeeean!" The redhead screeched in greeting. 

Sam giggled, her body leaning almost entirely on Charlie. 

Dean resisted the urge to slap his forehead. When Charlie had said she would take Sam on a girl's night out (_"It'll be good for her, let her talk about that girlfriend of hers and how much she misses her and how much she loves hunting with you anyways!"_), he'd agreed. He was still feeling slightly guilty about making Sam choose, so he'd thought that maybe a night out with female company might help. 

He was starting to regret that. 

"Charlie," he groaned. "I never gave you permission to get her drunk."

"How else would we have fun?" Charlie asked, words slurring, pouting and with puppy eyes almost as good as Sam's. Almost. 

"Awww," Sam broke in, eyes half-closed, with a sweet smile. "He's worried about me. See!" She turned to the redhead culprit. "I told you he's the best."

Ignoring the blush and the small burst of giddy pride, Dean gently pried the two girls apart. "Okay, Sammy." He led her over to the bed. "You sit tight here, okay?" He instructed. Then he turned to Charlie. "Come on, ya little troublemaker," he grumbled, glad she was too drunk to hear how fond he sounded. "Let's get you to your room."

Hoping Sam would listen to him and stay put, he guided Charlie to the motel room next to theirs. 

"S'okay, Dean," she said through a yawn. "I can put myself to bed. Go back to your woman." She snickered at her own joke. Then she looked at him, solemnly. "You're lucky she's with you. I don't know how Amelia could let her go. Sam's awesome." She looked considering for a moment. "And an awesome kisser. But mostly just awesome." She gave him a pitying look. "Too bad you're her brother." 

Dean didn't have time to figure out whether he should feel jealous (_Sam kissed Charlie?! Why the hell hadn't he been there_?) or not, before she closed the door on his face. 

He walked back to their room. 

Sam was in the same position he'd left her in, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, swaying side to side with her eyes closed and singing Bohemian Rhapsody, shamelessly skipping over half the words. 

"Okay, let's get you to bed, too," he murmured. He pulled her to her feet and she opened her eyes to eye him suspiciously. 

"Why are you taking my clothes off?" She asked in a small voice. 

"Because you feel too hot when you sleep with more than one layer on," Dean replied, deftly unbuttoning her shirt, but leaving the tee. His fingers lingered for a few precious seconds on the skin at her waist, then decided to leave it. It's not as if they didn't just sleep in their jeans if they were too tired. 

"Dean!" There was sudden urgency in the way she said his name. "Gotta tell you something!"

"Yeah?"

"You're not allowed to kiss me!"

Dean froze in the act of removing Sam's knife from the waistband of her jeans. "What?" He asked, mouth dry. 

"You're not allowed to kiss me," she repeated. 

Dean took a few deep breaths. "Okay," he agreed in a strangled voice. "Sure, Sam. But you need to go to sleep now."

He managed to lead her to her bed and make her sit, before she was glaring at him. "Ask why," she demanded. 

He sighed, wishing he could escape this conversation, knowing she wasn't going to drop it as long as she was drunk and hating that he couldn't leave her alone in this state. 

"Why?"

If possible, Sam's pout intensified. "You only kiss me when I'm leaving," she complained. Amazing how she managed to make her 6' self look like a little kid. "Or when you think I'm leaving. Or when you're dying. Not fair, that's not fair."

Dean bit his lips. What was he supposed to say to that? "I'm sorry, Sam," he mumbled. "But it's..." Well, she was too drunk to remember any part of this conversation hopefully. "I only kiss you when I think I'll never get the chance to do it again. Because you wouldn't want me to kiss you."

She nodded, reaching up to pat his stomach. "S'okay," she assured. "Kiss me now."

"Uh, what?" Dean exclaimed. "No, Sammy."

Incredibly, her bottom lip wobbled, eyes hazy with alcohol and now tears. "Oh." She looked down at her hands. "I thought you wanted me."

Dean had never heard her so sad. All his protective instincts flared. "Sam... That's not... Of course, I... I mean..." But he didn't know what he could say to this. 

Sam looked up at him, confused and clueless. "It's okay, De," she assured in a soft voice and wow, he hadn't heard that nickname in a decade. "I'm the freak. You only kiss me because you think it'll make me stay." She smiled, wobbly and small. "But I won't leave again. No point. You always bring me back. Don't worry. You won't have to kiss me again. I'll stay."

Dean was stupefied. A lot of things weren't making sense. He kissed her to make her stay? Yeah, but also because evey time she left, he thought it was for good and he'd never get a chance again. She was a freak? Sure, he teased her with that word, but he was the one coveting his sister in ways that were just plain wrong. She wanted him to kiss her? So did he, but... What if it was just drunken babble? 

"Sammy," he said in a hushed voice. "Don't be sad, please."

She frowned a little, brow furrowed as she concentrated. Then she looked up. "Nope. Can't stop."

"You can't seriously want me to kiss you," Dean pleaded. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear. 

Sam actually scowled at him. "Nope. _Won't_ stop."

There was a silent stare-off. Then, with a quiet sigh, wondering what he really had to lose, Dean sat beside her. Hoping she would simply forget this conversation in the morning, he kissed her, brief and soft, no give and take, just a presence. 

Sam blinked at him when he pulled away. Abruptly she gave him a dopey smile, like they were still kids and he was still her hero. "No more kissing when we're about to be separated," she implored. "Kiss me at other times." 

Without warning, she dropped back, hitting the pillow with uncanny accuracy for someone as hammered as she was. 

Dean, mouth half-open in shock, watched her hand tuck itself beneath her pillow for the cold comfort of her gun. He watched her until her breathing evened out. 

What had she meant by "_other times_" anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

**Resolve:**

Dean leaned back on his hands as he waited, the soft grass tickling his palms. Sam had taken Baby to get drinks. They'd had a few stressful weeks- case after case, chasing Crowley, showing Cas the ropes. Even Kevin had promised them the translation of the demon tablet within a few days. 

But after lifting the curse at the Tyler farmhouse in Boise, Cas had flown off, saying he wanted to try to reach out to other angels again. Then Sam had strong-armed Kevin into well deserved rest. 

So here they were, on their randomly occuring tradition of parking the Impala and watching the stars. Dean would never admit it to anyone else, but he loved the quiet intimacy of these moments. 

The roar of his car alerted him to Sam's arrival. She stepped out, lifting bottles of beer and he got to his feet. They hopped up on the hood of Baby in sync and Sam handed him his beer. 

"Kevin?" Dean asked in a whisper. 

It was a unspoken rule on these nights: minimal talking, as little noise as possible.   


"Out cold," she whispered back. 

Their bottles clinked together. The night air was pleasantly cool and Dean silently eyed Sam's arms, bare in the tank top without her plaid over it. The scars that were usually hidden and invisible were now shining subtly in the dim starlight. 

He felt his gaze on her and met her eyes once, guiltily, before looking away. They hadn't talked about that night she'd gotten drunk with Charlie. He assumed she didn't even remember, but sometimes, when he caught her watching him expectantly, he wondered.

"We really should go home soon," he mumbled. "That wrist of yours needs rest." He nodded at the cast around her left hand. 

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Say that again."

"You need to rest your-"

"No, before that."

Dean thought about it. "We need to go back home?" He tried. 

She considered him for a second, then smiled softly at the stars. "Yeah. _Home_. That sounds good."

Dean smiled to himself. 

"You know I do remember that night."

The smile slipped away. 

"Yeah?" He muttered, gloomily. 

"Yeah" She turned a questioning look at him. "You kissed me."

"You wanted me to."

"That's not reason enough."

"Well, it is for me," he countered. "You wanted me to, you were about to cry when I said no and you were giving me your puppy eyes. What was I supposed to do?"

She shrugged. "So it was only because I wanted you to. Not because you wanted it?"

"No- Sam, that's-" Dean groaned. "What do you want me to say, Sam?"

"Well, that night, you said something about thinking that I wouldn't want you to kiss me. You really still think that?"

"You were drunk," he reminded. "Whatever you say or do in that condition can't be taken as valid, because that would be taking advantage."

Sam actually had the gall to roll her eyes. "What about you? Only kissing me when we're about to be separated."

He shifted uncomfortably. "What about it?"

"You don't need to do that," she stressed. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't need to kiss me to make me stay."

Dean gaped at her. "I do that because I think it's the last chance I'll get to do it and I _know_ you won't deny me that, because _you_ know you're not coming back."

Sam stared back. "Well, stop doing that," she admonished. "I keep waiting for you to kiss me all the time, but then when you do, it feels like you're only doing it to try and convince me to stay. That's why I stopped you when you told me to choose between you and Amelia!"

Dean threw his hands up. Their no-talking rule had been shot full of holes anyway. "What do you mean '_all the time_'?"

Sam growled in frustration. Abandoning the beer bottle, she grabbed his collar and tugged sharply, forcing him to face her. He went cross-eyed, trying to keep sight of her dark eyes. 

"I mean," she snapped. "Kiss me when we've got nothing else to do. Kiss me after a hunt, when we're both bruised and hurt, but alive. Kiss me when you know I'm not going anywhere, when we're together."

She sucked in a sharp breath after her rant. Dean was agonizingly aware of her body between his legs, her vanilla scent making him dizzy and the coldness of her fingers from the beer bottle sending goosebumps all over him. 

Sam let out a frustrated groan. "You complete moron," she cursed. Then she kissed him, hard and furious. 

Dean groaned at the sting of her teeth. Her hands tightened on his collar, twisting his shirt, then loosened just as suddenly. 

Sam pulled back, staring at him, her eyes wide and the pupils blown. "Please," she whispered, the short burst of bravado gone. "You want this too. You do, right? Please?"

Dean felt his hands shake, as he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward to press their foreheads together. "This is so fucked up," he mumbled, helpless yet hopeful. "You know that, don't you? You know how fucked up this is?" It was a weak excuse and they both knew it. 

"Anymore fucked up than our daily lives?" Sam countered softly, now with a knowing smile, like she already knew his choice. 

Dean got one second to think, _We are so going to hell for this_, before Sam was kissing him again. This time, it didn't take Dean long to get with the program and soon enough their positions were reversed: Sam on the hood of Baby, her legs bracketing his body, arching into him as he slipped a hand into her short hair and tugged. 

There would be time to learn each other's bodies, to memorize tastes and scents and feels in a way they hadn't before. 

For now, Dean took pleasure in enjoying the actual sensation of kissing Sam, for the first time unmarred by guilt or hurt or grief. 

Yeah, maybe they'd go to hell for this. But right now, he had heaven wrapped in his arms. 


End file.
